Summer
by cautiousAlbatross
Summary: Summer is hot and boring, especially when your boyfriend is ignoring you.


Your name is John Egbert, and summer in Texas is stupidly hot.

You lie on Dave's bed, vaguely waving a piece of paper you've made into a sort of fan at your face, and feeling far too hot to do anything. You really wish the air conditioner hadn't chosen now, the hottest week of summer, to break. Over at his desk, Dave is doing something on his computer. He's wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and looking as if the heat doesn't bother him in the slightest.

"Ugh," you say, flopping over onto the floor and sprawling there, your limbs spread out.

You pull a face as you feel your sweat-soaked t-shirt moving against your skin.

"This heat is so gross," you say, rolling over onto your back and looking up at Dave.

You contemplate just rolling everywhere. You think that walking is far too much effort. At the computer, Dave is ignoring you, staring intently at his screen.

"How can you even be bothered to do anything?" you ask, rolling over again in search of a cool bit of the floor.

He doesn't reply, and you prop yourself up on one elbow, sighing.

"Dave, I'm hot and bored and stop ignoring me."

He continues ignoring you, and you wonder whether he's doing it on purpose, or if he just can't hear you through his headphones. Making a concerted effort to overcome your lethargy, you stand up and walk over to the desk.

"Dave," you say, sitting on the desk next to his keyboard.

He keeps ignoring you.

"Da-ave," you say, lying down across the keyboard and trapping his hands.

Sighing, he pulls his hands out from under you and takes off his headphones.

"What?" he asks.

"It's really hot," you say, "And I'm really bored."

"I'm kind of busy."

"But it's summer!"

You pout, realising you're probably getting his keyboard all sweaty but not really caring.

"I'm still busy."

"Stop being busy for a bit?" you say, shifting slightly so that his computer stops protesting at you depressing far too many of the keys, "We could have a water fight! On the roof!"

He pauses for a moment, clearly looking tempted.

"Fine," he says, "Half an hour."

"Yes!"

You jump off the desk and grab his hand, dragging him to his feet.

"Do you have water pistols?" you ask, hopping excitedly from one foot to the other.

"Course we do," he says, "Okay, hey, you go up to the roof, and I'll get the pistols. See you there in a few."

You go up the stairs to the roof, and lurk in the stairwell, putting off going out into the glaring sunlight. After a couple of minutes, Dave appears with two massive water pistols, and hands you one.

"Let's do this," he says, going out onto the roof.

You stand on opposite sides of the roof, posed dramatically like cowboys in an old western, about to have a shoot-out. Dave counts to three, then shoots you dead-on in the chest. You attempt to shoot him back, but miss by a ridiculously large margin. He hits you again, this time directly in the crotch.

"Hey, dude, why'd you pee your pants?" he asks.

"Oh, it is so on," you say, running towards him, shooting wildly and finally hitting him.

"You shoot like a girl," he says as you manage to miss him completely from about a metre away, "Correction, you shoot like a blind girl. Or possibly worse."

Frustrated, you hit him with your now-empty water pistol.

"Hey, no need to resort to violence," he says, shooting you straight in the face.

"Aw, man, my glasses," you say, taking them off and attempting to dry them on your soaking wet shirt, "I can't even _see _now."

"Well, at least you'll have an excuse for not being able to hit me," he says, taking your water pistol off of you, "I'm just going to fill these up. Back in a mo."

You try unsuccessfully to clean your glasses, only managing to make them more smeary. Sighing, you put them back on as Dave returns to the roof and shoots you immediately, hitting you on the seat of your pants.

"Hey, no fair!" you say, grabbing one of the pistols and shooting him in the face, soaking his shades.

"You did not just shoot my shades," he says, pointing his pistol threateningly at you.

"I did," you say, shooting them again.

"Now it's _really_ on."

Over the next hour, your get your ass thoroughly handed to you by Dave Strider. By the time you're too exhausted to even lift your pistols, you're both soaked to the skin and you're lying on your back on the roof.

"Truce?" you say, holding out your hand.

"Truce," he says, taking it and helping you up, "Let's go get some food."

"You got any ice cream?" you ask, wringing out your shirt.

"Sure, we got ice cream. Hey, you should probably take off your shirt."

"Yeah, probably shouldn't drip all over your apartment," you agree, nodding and pulling it off over your head.

Dave follows suit, and you both ring them out over the edge of the roof, managing to hit a pedestrian, to your great amusement and their anger. Giggling, you retreat inside, and go down to his apartment, where you both strip down to your underpants and dump your wet clothes in the shower.

"Ice cream?" you ask.

"Ice cream," Dave agrees, and retrieves a tub from the freezer, carefully avoiding the swords stashed in there.

You both sit on Dave's bed in your wet underpants, eating the ice cream straight out of the tub, which you're cradling against your stomach. You're not really that hot any more, but it still feels nice.

"You've got ice cream on your nose," you say, then giggle and lick it off.

"Hey!" he says, tapping you on the nose with his spoon and getting ice cream all over your face.

"Oh, come on," you say, trying to lick it off and failing.

He laughs and licks it for you, moving his tongue deliberately slowly and pulling a disgusted face at you.

"Shut up," you say, licking his cheek.

Squealing a little, he jerks away, dropping his spoon and ending up on his back.

"You're such an idiot," you say, laughing.

You carefully put your spoon in the tub of ice cream, then lean over and kiss the tip of Dave's nose.

"Don't lick me," he says, kissing you quickly.

"Why not?" you ask, licking his nose again.

"Ew," he says, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, "It's just weird."

"It's pretty much the same as kissing."

You laugh, leaning down to kiss him again.

"Well, you can kiss me as much as you want," he says, poking his tongue at at you.

"Offer accepted," you say.

You kiss him until you're too hot to move, then lie on your back next to him.

"This is a good summer," you say, slipping your hand into his and linking your fingers, "Despite the heat."

"Part of the point of summer is heat, idiot," he says, lifting your linked hands up to his mouth and kissing the back of your hand.

"All of the point of summer is avoiding the heat," you say, shifting slightly and knocking the nearly-empty pot of melted ice cream off of the bed and spilling it onto the floor.

You swear as you notice the spilt ice cream, contemplate clearing it up, then decide you can't be bothered.

"You make summer good," you say, turning onto your side so you can see Dave.

"You make it good, too," he replies, smiling.


End file.
